MAY CARNIVAL 2016 – The Review
Away carnivals are a fascinating part of male culture. It’s a trip which at its very least is a catalyst for male bonding and the platform to unleash your inner cro-magnon man. There is also the possibility that it can become the world’s largest unscripted beer commercial, with deep heat and groin cream a close second. There are also the times where your accommodation decides to become part of the fun and moral decay. And so begins the story of the May carnival 2016.
With kickoff on the Friday arvo at 6pm most of us arrived at the Hotel Allen during the afternoon. I entered my shared room with Paddy to find paint peeling off the walls, exposed electrical wiring attached to the head board lamp above my head, missing bulbs in the bathroom and fuck only knows what smeared onto our only window.
Away carnivals are a fascinating part of male culture. It’s a trip which at its very least is a catalyst for male bonding and the platform to unleash your inner cro-magnon man. There is also the possibility that it can become the world’s largest unscripted beer commercial, with deep heat and groin cream a close second. There are also the times where your accommodation decides to become part of the fun and moral decay. And so begins the story of the May carnival 2016.
With kickoff on the Friday arvo at 6pm most of us arrived at the Hotel Allen during the afternoon. I entered my shared room with Paddy to find paint peeling off the walls, exposed electrical wiring attached to the head board lamp above my head, missing bulbs in the bathroom and fuck only knows what smeared onto our only window.
We go to the ground and the assortment of Moodies Blues, Rangers and other gypsies put on the grey and road maintenance orange, shit looking kit (thanks again Millsy), to form the Mouldy Blues. Steve Goodie lays down the team formation which we would all understand from the Wednesday comp. Results came our way early with Millard head butting a goal in and Graham shaking off a decade of downward trending carnival form to blast home a goal and raise the middle finger to his doubters (i.e. pretty much everyone). Win 3-1. The conceded was a suspected home goal by Sheepy to keep things interesting.
We return to the hotel for a steak, some beers and ignored the shark cruising techniques of two rough looking hookers. We watch the football with some electing to go out and the others to stay behind. It was at this stage I was talking on the phone and almost pushed the hotel pool fence over previously unaware of its ability to flex down to a 40 degree angle. For fucks sake. I go to bed only to be woken 40 mins later to persistent knocking. I open the door. No Miss Prostitute I don’t know where your friends are. Yes in fact I am busy. No thank you I would not like ferocious gonorrhea, buy smack or to be stabbed with a stiletto in my own room. Thanks. Cheers. Good night.
A new day starts and it appears the previous night has been unkind to a few. Millsy, Graham and Davey look like microwaved dog shit. Andy tells stories of being served twice at a Macca’s 24 hour drive through, on foot…, while Dave’s hang over is so severe he begins claims of drink tampering and possible subterfuge by other teams. Yes Dave. Has-Been’s FC feared the ‘Hughes goal from a corner’ so much they spiked your 19th drink. Understood. Needless to say Dave disgraced himself and claimed he was unable to play due to a thundering hangover. Somewhere across Queensland Al Hughes broke into tears of shame with the Hughes legacy in tatters. Dave went back to spewing in his sink and assimilating into the general cliental and décor of the Hotel Allen.
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Anyway some football got played. General match consensus was – they weren’t real good, we weren’t real good and that its shit playing in the sun. We won 2-0. We go back to the hotel for the pool. Dave announces he has now stopped vomiting and will play in the next game at 2:15pm.
We play Sun Vegas. They prove they’re about as disinterested in running around in the mid afternoon sun as we are but we still manage to have Roberto and Buster pull up with hamstring blow outs within 30 seconds of each other. A nil-nil score line and exact same goal average brings us to a tie. We go to the coin toss for first place. We win. We win we win, we win, we win. Whatever. The scoring drought continues for the attacking (mid-strength) force that is Steve Goodchild.
We play Sun Vegas. They prove they’re about as disinterested in running around in the mid afternoon sun as we are but we still manage to have Roberto and Buster pull up with hamstring blow outs within 30 seconds of each other. A nil-nil score line and exact same goal average brings us to a tie. We go to the coin toss for first place. We win. We win we win, we win, we win. Whatever. The scoring drought continues for the attacking (mid-strength) force that is Steve Goodchild.
Dinner at the Allen. Most are looking either too sun burnt, hung over or a combination of both to go out. Dave’s off early. Maso’s off early. Even committed party man Graham appears to be lacking the usual combustion to achieve mid evening self-termination. I go to bed to be woken up by the sounds of a gargling drunk Maso and Graham talking bowls outside our door. I’m starting to think Maso went back to his bed with a bottle of Tequila and a funnel by the sound of him. I stick my head out to see two drunk bowels competitors (from the next room) talking shit to each other. No Maso. No Graham. With thoughts of ‘The Shining’ and illusions I go back to bed. I’m awoken later on in the night by last night’s hooker now tapping on the bowler’s room. Tap tap tap. He was in there but he wasn’t making a sound or answering that door. I woke up 45 minutes later to Paddy swearing and yelling through the wall at said hooker, who was still knocking on our neighbor’s door like Woody Woodpecker. Andy tells me later that he too thought he heard a blasted Maso and Graham solving the problems of the world in the middle of the night.
We start the semi’s. Roberto’s off claiming he’s saving his broken hamstring for the final. History will tell us this is akin to saving farts in a jar but we go with it none the less. I remember little about this game other than Trevor and Maso ran around like maniacs, it was hot and my current weight may not be conducive to playing center mid-field. One can only dream.
We start the semi’s. Roberto’s off claiming he’s saving his broken hamstring for the final. History will tell us this is akin to saving farts in a jar but we go with it none the less. I remember little about this game other than Trevor and Maso ran around like maniacs, it was hot and my current weight may not be conducive to playing center mid-field. One can only dream.
The final comes. It was hot. The game was competitive. Andy’s best tackle of the carnival is put on Maso setting back Victory F.C and Moody Blues relations to 2014. I believe this is also the game Maso ran like a freight train down the left wing, looked up to determine which one of his options he was to pass to and just ran out off the side line, later stating he’s an instinctive player only hampered by that thinking bullshit. Game goes on. One of the Sun Vegas guys complains about Moody players not minding a late tackle. Somewhere in Cairns at that precise moment, Jurgen is witnessed wiping away tears and nodding quietly. Sun Vegas fuck up two good chances and Roberto does like wise up their end.
The game ends 0-0 again. Penalties. El Andy kicks off and scores moving half the turf with him. Millsy scores, Paddy trips, stumbles and somehow toe punts it in from a post deflection. We go into sudden death and Roberto steps up and takes a text book penalty. The Sun Vegas keeper now faced with a shot that resembles something related to football makes the save for the win.
The game ends 0-0 again. Penalties. El Andy kicks off and scores moving half the turf with him. Millsy scores, Paddy trips, stumbles and somehow toe punts it in from a post deflection. We go into sudden death and Roberto steps up and takes a text book penalty. The Sun Vegas keeper now faced with a shot that resembles something related to football makes the save for the win.
Back to the hotel. NRL, A-League final and dinner. Over dinner it is agreed that all members of the team in Townsville would individually text well wishes to Roberto and be supportive over his missed shot and penalty in the final, which he would receive on the road as he was currently driving back to Cairns. Naturally the good will and sentiment ran out after text four and people’s real feelings came out there after.
We all go out. Somewhere between Liverpool’s shithouse performance against Swansea and the kitty running out I decide to go back to the hotel and catch the 2nd half and settle in for the Leicester/Man U. Of course I can’t get into the hotel because they’ve locked all the gates. Not sure if this is to protect the guests of The Allen or Townsville. Still undecided.
I get in through the gaming lounge and settle in to my room when there’s a knock on the door. More hooker action. No thank you. Avoided Herpes going on 41 years strong. Noooo I would not like to share your bottle of rum with you. Not that I see it on you. Don’t knock on the fuckin door again. I send Paddy our prossie alert text. It’s at this point I realize The Allen has every sports channel but Fox4. No EPL. For fucks sake. 15 mins later Paddy arrives back. Knock knock knock. Paddy also tells the persistent hooker that he would not like to party. No offer of rum though. Not sure what that says about him or me…. Paddy then realizes we have no Fox4 and goes into a rage. Interesting that this was his past-threshold point at The Allen. He goes off to find the duty manager who I can only imagine is safely locked in her panic room at this point of the evening. He comes back to find a hooker banging on the room next door. Paddy exchanges words with her. Ole mate in the room next door hears another person’s voice and takes the opportunity to come tearing out of his room to tell this hooker to fuck off and he’s calling the police. The make em tough in competitive bowling.
We all go out. Somewhere between Liverpool’s shithouse performance against Swansea and the kitty running out I decide to go back to the hotel and catch the 2nd half and settle in for the Leicester/Man U. Of course I can’t get into the hotel because they’ve locked all the gates. Not sure if this is to protect the guests of The Allen or Townsville. Still undecided.
I get in through the gaming lounge and settle in to my room when there’s a knock on the door. More hooker action. No thank you. Avoided Herpes going on 41 years strong. Noooo I would not like to share your bottle of rum with you. Not that I see it on you. Don’t knock on the fuckin door again. I send Paddy our prossie alert text. It’s at this point I realize The Allen has every sports channel but Fox4. No EPL. For fucks sake. 15 mins later Paddy arrives back. Knock knock knock. Paddy also tells the persistent hooker that he would not like to party. No offer of rum though. Not sure what that says about him or me…. Paddy then realizes we have no Fox4 and goes into a rage. Interesting that this was his past-threshold point at The Allen. He goes off to find the duty manager who I can only imagine is safely locked in her panic room at this point of the evening. He comes back to find a hooker banging on the room next door. Paddy exchanges words with her. Ole mate in the room next door hears another person’s voice and takes the opportunity to come tearing out of his room to tell this hooker to fuck off and he’s calling the police. The make em tough in competitive bowling.
Mercifully Monday morning comes and I experience Paddy yell, swear and tell members of the early rising bowling team from next door to shove a bowling ball up their collective anuses due to their dawn forum outside our front door - we get up. We have breakfast in preparation to leave. Roberto’s ‘wife’ sends this message.
“What happened to my husband? He stormed out of the house on returning from Townsville over two ours ago. Are you his team mates? He has left his phone and wallet here at home and I can see from the text messages something is wrong. My children are crying. We are distraught and have searched the nearby park with my family. Please help me as I need to call the police to help find him. Did he hurt someone in Townsville? It is not in his nature to do this. Please help!! Tracey.”
With the teams response,
“Hi Tracey, if you’re looking for Roberto we can confirm the places he won’t be - the goal net or the winners podium. Love your Moody Blues xo”
We’re a sentimental bunch I know.
A big thanks goes to Cliff and his crew for putting on a fun carnival.
Who’s up for a October carnival?
Bordo
“What happened to my husband? He stormed out of the house on returning from Townsville over two ours ago. Are you his team mates? He has left his phone and wallet here at home and I can see from the text messages something is wrong. My children are crying. We are distraught and have searched the nearby park with my family. Please help me as I need to call the police to help find him. Did he hurt someone in Townsville? It is not in his nature to do this. Please help!! Tracey.”
With the teams response,
“Hi Tracey, if you’re looking for Roberto we can confirm the places he won’t be - the goal net or the winners podium. Love your Moody Blues xo”
We’re a sentimental bunch I know.
A big thanks goes to Cliff and his crew for putting on a fun carnival.
Who’s up for a October carnival?
Bordo